Free Wicked by Addison Moore Page B

night. I’ve showered and shaved and pushed the dresser in front of the door. I’m totally ready to do whatever it takes to get him to tell me what Chloe’s holding over him.

    I pull him towards the bed and push him backwards onto his elbows. Hopping up beside him, I give the sexiest, albeit awkward, sideways kiss.

    “Hello to you, too.” He lets out a lazy grin and kicks off his shoes. They hit the wood floor with two very distinct thuds. The noise causes me to simultaneously freeze and stop breathing just before I lean over and turn off the light. Not that my mother could ever successfully evict Gage from my bedroom.

    “That was smooth.” He pecks a kiss on my forehead. “Sorry.”

    “So what’s going on?” Now that the lights are off, I doubt he’ll notice the pink lace boy-shorts and matching bra that I spent hours debating over. Or the fact I redefined forever by applying false eyelashes until my fingers cramped up from almost adhering my lids together, twice.

    “Nothing’s going on with me, but you’ve definitely got it going on.” He pulls me into a series of mind numbing kisses, taps into my soul with aching throws of desperate passion that only Gage is able to emanate so well.

    We build a blaze on the bed, an inferno that transcends any stupid invitation I was told to send out. It feels right like this with Gage. I trace my hands down his chest and into the edge of his jeans. I don’t bother with the button or the zipper, just glide my fingers into the waistband of his underwear and push in a little deeper.

    Gage snaps me up by the wrist and brings up my hand as though he’s just made the interception of the year.

    “Where you going?” He gives a husky laugh.

    “I was checking—you know, boxers or briefs.” I pull a face and scoot in towards the wall to give him more space.

    He brushes my hair back with his fingers in long continuous strokes. A perfect seam of moonlight falls over his face—highlighting him like a black and white picture, save for the eyes, which remain true to the deepest part of the ocean even in this dim light.

    “You know that I want to,” he leans in with a sarcastic inflection, “help you demystify my clothing preferences, but not like this, not on your bed in your room with a dresser barricading us from your parents.”

    “They’re not my parents, if that helps.”

He shakes his head.

    It makes me think of Logan, how he had Chloe right in this very room, twice to be exact. He wasn’t quite as altruistic as Gage, but then again, he wasn’t really in love with Chloe to begin with. And I can’t judge Logan. I would’ve jumped at the chance if Gage let me.

    “So you prefer the downstairs sofa?” I shrug.

    “No—nowhere in the Landon residence to be exact. I’d hate for Tad to be right about me.”

    “Who cares about Tad? This is about us.” I reach my hand inside the bottom of his t-shirt and trace a heart onto his smooth bare chest. “It’s going to happen eventually.” I bite down on my lower lip and magnetize him byway of a bewitching stare. “But then you probably already know about it, which totally isn’t fair.” I push him in slowly by the back of the neck until I can feel his warm minty breath on my face. “So tell me about it.”

    He shakes his head in reluctance. “It’s a very naughty bedtime story.”

    “You do know.” I give a quick scratch at his chest. “I bet its prom because I secretly love clichés.”

    “No.” The curve of a wicked grin waits to explode on his face.

    “OK, Christmas,” I whisper. “I like Christmas better anyway because it’s practically almost here.”

    “Nope.” There’s a gleam in his eye because he’s so obviously enjoying this.

    “Two days—Thanksgiving. Right up on the table in front Tad and my fake mom, Marshall will be there did I forget to mention that?” I giggle at the thought.

    “Yeah, well, Marshall might try to knock me off the table and take over, so that’s